


Shelter

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fade to Black, Fear, Historical, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Past Lives, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Soulmates, The Blitz, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes has never been able to break down the walls that encase him. Can Gregory Lestrade offer him the love he needs to finally let go? And will a surprise discovery help him take the final leap? After all, love like this is eternal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [来生仍爱你 Shelter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409111) by [hastamifinal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hastamifinal/pseuds/hastamifinal)



_November 1940_

Michael rubbed his temples, signing off the orders and handing them to be delivered. It was growing late and all he wanted was to be home. Or at least in the bunker underneath his garden. There would be more bombings tonight, most likely. He hoped Graham had made it before lights out. With a sigh, he stood, signalling his secretary to bring the car around. 

**

Graham paced, waiting for Michael to return home or the sirens to go off, whichever came first. He sat, rubbing his eyes, willing himself to remain strong. To fight back the emotions that swirled so close to the surface these days, the fear of death, of bombings, of being caught with Michael in his bed. They already risked enough living together, “bachelors” though they were. He froze as he heard the sound of a car door open, hoping it was Michael. 

Michael relaxed a bit as he arrived home. His driver took off for his own home and Michael slipped inside. “Graham?” he called.

“I’m in here,” Graham said, sitting up and trying to hide his inner turmoil. “You’re home. Thank God,” he said, looking up as Michael entered the study. 

“Oh, Graham.” Michael went to him and wrapped him in his arms, holding him close. He knew how nerve wracking this was for both of them. It had been dangerous enough living together before the war. Somehow, it seemed even more dangerous now.

“Sorry, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just missed you. Had a body come in today. Another suicide, another one of us, another ruined reputation, and I just…” Graham trailed off, burying his head on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m fine, love. We’re fine.” 

Michael rubbed his back. “I know this is difficult,” he said softly.”But I don’t wish to do this without you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Graham said, letting a heavy breath go. “Come on, then. Bed for a bit, before the sirens go off? Wait. Have you eaten?” 

“I haven’t, no.” Michael scrubbed his face. “I had to order a number of troops to the front today,” he said quietly.

“Oh, love. I’m sorry,” Graham murmured. He took Michael’s hand and led him into the kitchen, turning on only a small lamp. Everything was in short supply these days. 

“It must be done. We’re only a small island, after all. I know things are dark, but they’ll get better.”

“I believe it. The war will end soon,” Graham said, reaching into the ice box and pulling out the plate he had set aside for Michael. He never ate when he stayed this late at the office. 

“Have to believe it. Thank you.” Michael tucked into the plate. He gave Graham a few bites as he ate.

Graham smiled, watching him eat. Michael had lost too much weight with the stress and the rationing. He missed the plump belly and thighs, the soft body he’d lay alongside at night. He reached a hand out, laying it on his upturned wrist, feeling the pulse beating soft and steady underneath his fingers. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” 

Michael brought his lover’s hand to his lips and kissed his wrist. “I love you as well.” He was glad they were both too old to be sent overseas, and that their jobs were in demand here.

Graham smiled again, blinking rapidly as he fought back a well of emotion. He came around the table as Michael finished his food and leaned in, embracing him quietly. 

Tilting his chin, Michael kissed him gently, just as the sirens started.

Graham sighed, and pulled him from his seat. “Come on,” he said, pulling him quickly through the house and out the back door, down to the bunker beneath. He opened the door, sending Michael down before him as always. He climbed down the ladder and reached up, pulling the cover shut, sending them into darkness as Michael fumbled with a candle. Just as he lit it, the first bombs hit, shaking the dust from the earth down onto them. “It’s fine,” Graham said as the candle blew out again. “We can find the cot in the dark can’t we?” 

“Yes.” Michael took his arm in the pitch black and pulled him close. He was more scared than he wanted to admit, trying to be strong for them both.

Graham heard the waver in Michael’s voice and kissed him gently, aiming for his lips, but catching his cheek in the darkness. “Come here.” He led them back, hand outstretched as he walked along the wall until bare feet hit the mat and blankets made up in the corner. 

Michael sat down and leaned against him. “It’s almost every night, now.”

“Yeah,” Graham said quietly, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him tight as another bomb hit, closer this time. “We’ve enough shelters, though. As long as the warnings come in time.”

“I saw a young woman today, putting her child on a train out to the country. As soon as he was out of sight, she broke down crying. Her husband was fighting and with her son gone she was now all alone in the city. I tried to assure her that somehow it would be alright. But there are times I don’t know,” Michael said softly, burying his head in Graham’s chest.

“We have to be all right,” Graham said gently, feeling the tears start to come. “That Turing fellow I’m not supposed to know about. He’s figuring out the codes with the rest of them. Anna….she’s doing good work over there. Sending information. She’ll come back to us. Everyone is trying, and we’ll win. I promise, love,” he said, swallowing hard. “Promise.” 

“I know,” Michael sighed. “Between you and me and the walls, Turing is one of us as well.”

“Oh god…” Graham said quietly. “If anyone finds out….” 

“He has as much practice at keeping it quiet as I do. And I’m doing what I can to protect him. It’s not fair, Graham, but even I can’t change it.”

"Michael. Promise me something?" Graham asked, feeling his heart begin to crack. 

“Anything.” Michael took his hand.

"If something happens, if someone finds out, if there is anything more than whispers...marry. Please.” 

Michael kissed him, shaking his head. “I could say the same to you.”

"No, Michael.” Graham pulled away, capturing his hand. “You can't risk it. I could get by, I've been married before. They'll think I'm mourning my dead wife, they won't know. But you," Graham rubbed at his face, willing himself to stay together. "People need you. The country needs you." 

“I love you,” said Michael, feeling sheltered by the dark, knowing that no one could eavesdrop.. The ground shook again at another close bomb. “Even if the city falls down around us, I love you and nothing could change that. I don’t want to be with anyone else, for any reason.” It had taken so long to say the words, to admit how he felt, he didn’t want to give it up now.

"If it will protect you, I am asking for this, Michael. Please don't fight it. Nothing would change the way this beats for you," Graham said, turning in the dark to face him, pulling his hand to his heart. "But if....if anything happens, I will," he swallowed hard, biting back tears. "I will leave you. To protect you." 

“Please don’t say that,” whispered Michael. “I need you.”

"I'm sorry, love," Graham said shakily, feeling his heart break completely. "But I would. For you." He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together as the ground shook again. "I won't let anyone harm you," he murmured. "I can’t let anyone harm you." 

Michael felt tears in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Graham, just holding him tightly.

Graham laid them down, pulling a blanket over them against the chill of the earth. "I'm so sorry, Michael. One day...this. What we are...it won't matter. I promise." 

“I pray so,” he said softly, closing his eyes and clinging to his lover, even as the bombs continued to fall.

Knowing the door was locked behind them, that this room was secure, that even with the blasts going off around them they were safe, Graham leaned in and kissed Michael. "I love you," he murmured. "More than anything else in this world." He kept kissing him, hidden under the blankets and earth, pressing all his emotions into the movement. He ignored the tears that began to fall down his cheeks, just wanting, needing connection.

Michael was crying too, exhausted, running his hands down Graham's back, needing him with all his heart and soul, shielded by the darkness surrounding them. 

“Love…” Graham murmured, cupping his face. “God, anything for you. You know that right?” 

"I do. I love you, too." He knew Graham could feel the damp on his cheek. 

Graham let go of a choked sob as another bomb hit, dropping his head to Michael’s neck. He bit hard, marking him where he knew no one would see, where it would be covered by fabric and buttons. No one could ever see.

Michael groaned, surrendering to his lover, needing this as much as he did. 

“I want to take you. Will you let me? Right here?” Graham said shakily, releasing the skin caught between his teeth, pressing a kiss to the mark as his tears fell to either side. 

"Please. I'm yours." He pushed down his trousers, reaching for Graham's. 

“We need something, love,” Graham said as his bottoms came off, trousers and pants falling to the floor. 

"I think there's some oil..." Michael felt around until his hand landed on it. "Here.” 

“God,” Graham murmured, mouthing along his shoulder. “It’s so dark in here. We have to be careful...I can’t mark you where anyone will know. I miss being able to see your freckles,” he murmured. “Miss being able to lock ourselves away at the top of the house, leave the curtains wide to the sun.” 

"I know," Michael murmured. "Please. I need you."

“I want everyone to know one day. That I belong to _you_ …” Graham breathed, slicking his fingers and dropping them low, rubbing between Michael’s legs. “One day, when all of this is over.” 

Michael kissed him desperately, moaning against him. Another bomb fell close by, loud in the night.

“I’ve got you, love.” Graham pressed in gently, feeling the slick heat of Michael’s body accepting him. He could hear as dust and earth fell onto the blankets, and worry fell over him. The shelter shouldn’t be affected this much. Michael let a low whine escape him and Graham turned his attentions back to his lover, sliding his hand up a long, pale leg. “Love you..” he murmured, adding another finger. 

"I love you too." Michael was scared, to be honest. He could feel the earth crumbling and silently prayed the shelter would hold. "In me, please."

“Now?” Graham asked, kissing his neck. “But you’re not…” 

"Please. Graham."

“All right. All right.” Graham hitched Michael’s calf over his waist, foot catching on the blankets. He lined himself up and began to press in, moving his hand up to rest gently on Michael’s stomach. 

Michael bore down, breath catching at the stretch. "I loved you. From the first." He remembered, the covert meeting in one of the few places he could meet other men like him. Graham's easy laugh, the way his eyes seemed to see right through him. From that moment Michael was lost. 

“It’s only been you, love,” Graham murmured, flashing back to their first meeting. The warmth of Michael’s hand on his, the softness hidden in the depths of his blue eyes. “Only you.” He moved deeper, both men gasping together as he buried himself to the hilt. “Michael…”

"Graham." The earth shook as his lover moved inside of him. That one had been even closer, more earth raining down on them. It was only a hastily converted root cellar; there hadn't been time for anything else. He cupped Graham’s face and kissed him deeply, hearing the whistle of a bomb far too close. “I love you,” he whispered as the sound drew closer. “And I will always find you, in this life or the next.”

Before Graham could respond the bomb struck and the roof collapsed around them. They died almost painlessly, wrapped in one another’s arms. When Michael’s people dug up the remains of the cellar in the morning light, they found them still together. Prayers were murmured, but in the end they were buried apart, though those closest to them knew the truth and carried it with them.

**

_Present Day_

Greg hummed tunelessly, searching through the books for the one Mycroft had sent him in for. Old and green, leather bound with gold leaf text and inked herbs on the cover. He glanced out the window, smiling at Mycroft, kneeling in the garden, still in proper trousers and a cardigan, despite the sun. He turned back to the shelves, walking further along the wall as he spotted a book that might be it. He tugged hard, the book somehow stuck between the shelf and wall, as if carelessly shoved back in. Scowling, he gave one last tug, the book falling into his hands, a yellowed envelope fluttering from it’s pages. He kneeled down, puzzled as he examined the date on the corner. Faded ink, likely from a fountain pen inscribed the paper with the year 1940. He looked out the window at Mycroft again and shrugged, sitting down to read it by the window. 

After he finished, he sat back, swallowing hard. The code had been difficult to get through and he’d skimmed, but the sentiment behind it was humbling, heart rending. He was vaguely aware of his hands shaking, a thick silver ring in his palm. He’d known Mycroft’s house was old, had been damaged in the war, but he hadn’t realized… 

He closed his hand around the ring and stood, making his way out to Mycroft, book forgotten. 

**

Mycroft pushed his spade into the soft earth and turned it over. Something caught the sun and he frowned, digging and pushing the dirt aside until he found a watch. The leather was cracked with age and the glass fogged. The hands had stopped just after midnight. Swallowing, he picked it up, wondering where it had come from. He’d have to investigate.

The door opened and closed behind him and he turned. Greg looked drawn. “What is it?” he asked, worried, getting to his feet, still holding the watch.

Greg handed the letter over, hands still shaking. “I didn’t find the book,” he said quietly.

Mycroft took it and read it. It was coded, because it would have had to have been, but it was easy to see it was written by a man very much in love with another man. “Where did you find this?” he asked softly, heart aching for the sentiment expressed in those few lines.

“In the library. My, didn’t you say this house was bombed in the war? The owner died?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” He turned around and picked up the watch. “I just found this.”

Greg took it, rubbing the dirt away from the back of the timepiece. “I can’t read it..but something’s written. Looks like a name.” 

Mycroft took it and turned it to the light. “Graham.” He looked from the watch to the letter. “Show me where you found this?”

“Right,” Greg said, taking his hand and leading him in. “It was in here, fell out of a book,” he said, letting go and scooping the book from the floor. “It was green, so I thought it was the one you were after. Shoved into the crack between the wall and the shelf.” He handed it over, Mycroft rifling through the pages. 

“It’s a journal. Coded, but I’m sure I can figure it out.” Mycroft ran his fingers down a page. He turned to the back. “Looks like maybe early November 1940 is the last entry.” He looked up at Greg’s face. “Would you like to know more? I believe I would.”

“I think we owe it to him. Whoever they were. One of them could still be alive, and if they are…” He held up the ring. “We should return this.” 

“Okay.” Mycroft leaned in and kissed him gently. “Did you want to check the city records while I decode this journal?”

“Yeah, I’ll go find out whose house this was.” Greg smiled at him and took the journal back. “But first, go wash your hands. You’ve got dirt all over you.” 

Mycroft looked down at himself. “I suppose I do. Leave it on my desk.”

Greg chuckled. “Right then. I’m off. I’ve got to go into work, so I’ll just look ‘em up there.” He leaned in for another kiss, cupping Mycroft’s face. “Love you, My” 

Mycroft gave him a soft smile and kissed him.

Greg shrugged and pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, then,” he said, and left, leaving the library door open behind him. 

Mycroft watched him go, sighing and running a hand through his hair before looking at it and making a face. Grumbling, he went to take his shower.

**

Sally found Greg going through records. “Did you need help?” she asked.

“Hey Sal,” Greg muttered, pulling off another lid. “I can’t find the records I’m looking for on the computer. They’re buried.” 

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Housing records. From the forties I think, but probably before. If not here, I might get something in death records.” He rattled off the address, and lifted his head. “How’re you anyway?”

Sally gave him a smile. “I’m fine.” She went to grab another box. “How is your mysterious boyfriend?”

“He’s fine. And I told you that you could meet him,” Greg grumbled, coughing at a cloud of dust.

“Only if that’s what he wants, too.” Sally opened a box. “I think this is what you’re looking for.” 

Greg looked over, and pulled out the stamped file, flipping through the pages. “Michael Hart. Government official.” He snorted, then frowned. “Oh...death date. Damn. I figured. Thanks Sally.” 

“You’re welcome. Need anything else?”

“Nah. I just stopped in to find this and grab some papers from Dimmock. Enjoy your weekend, yeah?” 

“You too, sir.” Sally squeezed his shoulder and went out.

**

Greg stepped back into Mycroft’s house a few hours later, bearing the file and dinner. “Mycroft, love? You home?” He heard no response and shrugged, going into the kitchen to set the food down. 

Mycroft rubbed his face and came in from his office as he heard Greg’s movements. “I know who they were,” he said quietly, holding the journal.

“Did you translate it all?” Greg asked turning, and nodding at the file on the table. “I’ve got the owner’s name. Michael Hart had the house, the same one that wrote the letter. Is the journal his as well?” He wiped his hands off and came forward, wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s waist. 

“It is. His lover’s name was Graham Lewis. Michael bought this house in 1930. Graham moved in in 1938. They had two years of living together as bachelors, more or less.”

“God, that’s sad. Did you find out if Graham made it?” Greg asked quietly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

“He did not. I’m afraid they both perished in my garden.”

Greg sighed. "Any family from either of them?" 

“Not that I could find. Graham was married, but his wife died in childbirth. Michael apparently kept his records as clean as I do.”

"Do we at least know if they were buried together?" 

“They weren’t. I did some research once I had names. Graham was buried next to his wife. Michael was buried in a family plot. They’re nearly across the city from one another.”

Greg felt a pang in his heart for the two men as he rubbed a slow circle over Mycroft's back. 

Mycroft leaned against him. “It was the time they lived in,” he said quietly. “If anyone had found that letter, or broken the journal….the journal was a huge risk, though he kept things vague.”

"I know, it's sad," Greg murmured. "Come on now, we'll sit down to dinner and you can tell me what you learned." 

Mycroft took a deep breath and cupped Greg’s cheek, looking him in the eyes. “Gregory….I love you. I hope you know that.”

Greg swallowed hard. "I...know, and I'm glad you finally told me. I love you, too and I am so, _so_ lucky to have you. You..." He trailed off, gazing into Mycroft's eyes. "You're amazing, and you're mine." 

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him gently. He never had been particularly good at this sort of thing.

Greg gave a watery chuckle as his stomach rumbled, breaking the moment. "I think it's time to eat, my love." Bringing his hands up, he squeezed Mycroft's hands tight. "It is the truth you know. I love you. No matter what." 

Mycroft kissed the back of his hands. “I know. Come on, then, let’s eat.”

They settled down at the table, and Greg looked over the notes Mycroft had made from the journal. "So, this is it, then? This is their story. Do you think anyone is alive from that time? They'd be old." 

“I think I found one person. She was a spy during the war, but before that she was Michael’s personal assistant. She’s alive and she’s Anthea’s grandmother.”

"You're joking," Greg said, leaning back in his chair. "Can we see her?" 

“I sent Anthea a message, but I haven’t heard back from her yet. Seems her family has been in this business longer than I thought.”

"That would explain a lot," Greg said, swallowing. 

Mycroft chuckled. “Anthea won’t eat you, you know.”

"You say that, but you don't know for sure." 

“Well, then she would have to contend with me.” Mycroft leaned across and kissed him again. “Eat.”

"Yes, sir. You, too." Greg teased, smiling softly at him.

**

A few days later they were just outside London. "You sure this is it?" Greg asked, looking over the small cottage. Flowers bloomed all over the enclosed garden, ivy crawling over the stone walls. The curtains fluttered gently, and Greg narrowed his eyes. "Mycroft....." he said warningly.

“What? Yes, I’m certain.” Mycroft turned to look at him.

"I am, too. Now. Don’t move," Greg said, watching the muzzle in the window. "Did Anthea tell her to expect us?" 

“She told me that she did. I suppose you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t turn around, aren’t you?” He watched Greg’s eyes.

"Yes, I am. She's got a gun on us," Greg said. "Mycroft. I am going to take your hand. And then I'm going to squeeze it while I lean forward and kiss you. I know you don't like public shows of affection, but I'm going out on a limb here. Just...there isn’t anyone here but us. And the old lady with a gun. No pressure, right?" 

“All right.” Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat as he took Greg’s hand.

Greg smiled guiltily at him. "I really hope she doesn't shoot us." He leaned forward, bringing his free hand up to cup his face as he pressed their lips together, watching the window. 

Mycroft closed his eyes despite himself, relaxing into the kiss until he heard the door open behind them.

Greg stiffened, pulling away. "Turn around now. She's still got the gun, but she's....smiling?" 

Mycroft turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Jones?”

"That's me. You two are Greg and Mycroft, correct?" 

“Yes ma’am, I’m Mycroft.” He took a step forward. “Anthea said you were expecting us.”

She rolled her eyes, tucking the gun away in her apron pocket. She turned around, moving into the house, speedy even on a cane. "Come on then!" Greg raised his eyebrows at the shout from within. 

"How old is she?" 

“Ninety-two.” Mycroft smiled and shook his head, following her inside.

"Now, you, Gregory. Kettle's just boiled. Go in and fetch me tea. Everything's laid out, two sugars," Anna instructed. "You may fix your own as well." 

Greg nodded. "Yes ma'am." He smiled nervously at Mycroft and fled gratefully to the kitchen.

Mycroft took the seat she gestured to. He reached into his suit and pulled out the journal. “Thank you for seeing us. Greg found this in my house a few days ago, and we were hoping you might know something about it.”

"Oh, I haven't seen that book in ages," Anna said, reaching forward and taking it carefully. "It was Michael's. I assume you broke the code?" 

“I did. I do hope you’ll forgive me. I also found this watch in the garden.” He took the broken watch from another pocket.

"And that was Graham's. Michael got it for him after their first year," Anna murmured. 

“I’m sorry,” said Mycroft again. “They seemed like good men.”

"They were. I'm happy that they died together. If one had had to live without the other, I do not know how long they would have managed." 

“It must have been difficult for them, given the times. And not just the war and the blitz.”

"It was," Anna said. "I knew Graham, but I worked for Michael. I was his confidante, his only friend. He was....very troubled." 

“I’m certain working for the government he had all the more worry.” Mycroft glanced at the kitchen, but Greg was still squirreled away. He leaned forward. “I’m in a similar position myself, presently.”

"If Anthea works for you, I'm sure. I trained her well," Anna said, settling back in her chair. "The one in the kitchen. You love him." 

“I do,” said Mycroft simply. “We’ve been together three years now. I...only told him I loved him a few days ago.”

Anna tsked. "It took Michael nearly the whole two years that he and Graham were together. He only told him about three weeks before they died. I wasn't meant to be there. But I was just about to ship out again. Germany. I heard him. Do you want to know the story?" 

“Please.” Mycroft’s voice was soft.

"Graham had come home late that night. They were in the library, and I very nearly walked in. But then I heard Graham. He was...sobbing, Michael holding him in his arms." Anna met Mycroft's eyes. "There are some things that shouldn't be overheard. This moment was one of them. Graham had been down at the docks. He was a police inspector, homicide. There had been another death, another beating, and he couldn't hide the fear anymore. He was utterly inconsolable at the idea that the same might happen to Michael." 

Mycroft swallowed hard. “He was afraid that Michael would be caught with him.”

"He was afraid they'd both be caught. Knew what would happen to them. This had been building for ages, and I am ashamed to say that I eavesdropped. Tell me, Mycroft what do you think happened?" 

“That night? Michael told him it would be worth every risk?”

Anna nodded. "Graham would have laid down his life for Michael. He told Michael he loved him only a few months into their relationship." 

“And that night was the night Michael told Graham.” Mycroft nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “When I was young, it still wasn’t acceptable, and even now, well.” He sighed. “I’ve….always had difficulty with this part of myself.”

"Michael was the same. He hadn't said those words since his brother came of age." 

“He had a brother?”

"A younger brother. Sherrinford. He died as well, a few years back. I'm the only one left from that time."

“And still going strong. Anthea spoke highly of you.” He reached for her hand. “Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

"You needed to know. You remind me of them, both of you, in looks and personality. It was almost like seeing two ghosts in my front garden.” 

“Is there any way we could honor them?”

"The two of you will think of something. I would have liked to see them buried together." Anna looked at him carefully. "You however...will you promise me something?" 

“Anything.”

"Do not let Gregory go. Do not be afraid to tell him how you feel. And remember how lucky you are to be able to be with the man you love." 

“Yes, ma’am, I can do that.” He looked up as Greg finally appeared with three cups of tea.

Greg smiled and served the tea. "Alright, love?" he asked quietly, setting a gentle hand on Mycroft’s thigh as he sat down. 

“I am. Mrs. Jones here was simply sharing a bit about Michael and Graham with me.”

"Oh. Sorry, I missed it. Will you tell us more?" Greg asked, settling back on the couch and sliding an arm around Mycroft's shoulders.

"Of course. No one else here to listen, ah?" Anna said, with a twinkle in her eye. "Sit back now you two. Let me tell you about the time Graham brought home a stray dog...." 

**

_November 1940_

Graham sobbed in Michael's arms, body shaking with fear and guilt. "It's too much. If they catch you, if they catch _us_..."

Michael kissed his cheek. "They won't, Graham. And even if they did. It would be worth every risk."

“You don’t see what I do. You don’t see what they do to them. We’d be lucky to have the government find us out, it would be-” 

"I love you," said Michael suddenly, interrupting him. 

Graham froze in his arms. Slowly, he raised his head, eyes red and cheeks wet from his tears. "What?"

Michael smiled sadly and touched his cheek. "I love you. No matter what happens, or who knows."

Graham studied his face as if he wasn’t sure if he could believe what he was hearing. He bit his lip a moment, then surged forward, kissing Michael hard, pressing him back on the couch.

"Tell me again," he whispered, trembling fingers undressing Michael, uncaring for buttons or ties.

"I love you." Michael ran a hand through his hair.

"I love you too," said Graham, devouring him with kisses, tugging his shirt away. “Again. Please.” 

“I love you. No matter what.”

Graham let out a choked sob, pulling away. “We can’t do this here. Anyone could walk in, could see,” he said, swallowing hard and moving from the couch. “I won’t risk it. We’ll go upstairs,” he said shakily. 

Michael nodded and took his hand, leading him quickly up the stairs. When they got to the top of the house, Graham moved into the room, locking the door behind him as Michael sat on the bed. Graham looked at him, and with shaking hands advanced, pulling him in for a kiss. “I love you,” he said, tears beginning to well up again as Michael lay back. “God, Michael. I... I want everyone to know, to see. But they can’t,” he whispered harshly. “Why can’t they understand?” 

“I don’t know,” Michael said gently, as Graham finished undressing them both. 

“I want you,” Graham murmured, burying his head in Michael's bare chest. “Will you take me?”

“Yes, my love, yes,” Michael whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead and nudging him onto his back. Graham reached his hands up, pulling him down to lay over him. “Forever yours…”

** 

Michael slipped away after Graham fell asleep, leaving a single candle burning in the bedroom. He sat down at his desk in the library, pulling out his journal from the locked, hidden drawer within. He also took out an envelope and opened it, dropping the silver ring into his palm. Swallowing hard, he put the ring back in the envelope and tore a page from the back of the journal. He scribbled a few words, figuring he could refine them later, coding them from habit. The ring was for Graham come Christmastide, a token he could wear without fear. But with the bombs and the war, Christmas seemed to grow farther and farther away every day, and the likelihood that they would both survive this war grew ever slimmer. A tear hit his hand, and Michael realized he was crying. He looked out the window, pulling a handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket. Perhaps, he thought quietly to himself, as an early frost crackled across the windows, perhaps this letter would be safe. And in time, he could place the ring and letter into Graham’s hand. The whine of sirens broke the silence and he lept up, stuffing the paper in the envelope and sticking it within the pages of the journal. At the sound of Graham's feet upon the stairs, he shoved the journal into his bookshelf and hurried out, joining his lover in the hall and silently taking his hand as they rushed for the shelter. 

**

_Present Day_

By the time they got home from Anna’s, it was late. She’d fed them up, insisting they both eat until they’d feared they’d need to be rolled to the car, but now they were in their bedroom and getting ready to sleep.

Mycroft looked at Greg. He tried to imagine what it would have been like for him if he’d been born forty years earlier and had to deal with so many different things in his job. Quietly he moved to his side and kissed him.

Greg smiled and kissed him back. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Just thinking about what Anna said.” He took Greg’s hand and led him to the bed. “I know I’m not good at expressing how I feel…”

“But I know,” said Greg, laying him back and moving over him. “Even if you don’t say it aloud, I can see it in your eyes, feel it in your fingers.”

Mycroft leaned up to kiss him. “I’m a lucky man. In so many ways.”

“Nah. I'm the lucky one. Let me show you just how much you mean to me?" he murmured, grinning and dropping his head to meet Mycroft's lips.

**

A week after talking to Anna, Mycroft pulled up in front of the yard as Greg walked out, talking to Sally. Mycroft took a breath and rolled down the window. “Good evening, Ms. Donovan.”

Sally stared for a moment. “This is the boyfriend?”

Greg chuckled. “Yep. Come to give me a lift?”

“Something I wanted to show you, yes.” Mycroft watched Greg make his goodbyes to Sally and slide in next to him. Mycroft reached over and took his hand.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked as they pulled into traffic. 

“You’ll see shortly.” Mycroft squeezed his hand. 

"Alright," Greg said, lapsing into silence. He narrowed his eyes as they pulled through some gates. "Cemetery? Not terribly old, but old enough to have dead people." 

“You’re right,” Mycroft said with a faint hint of amusement as the car came to a stop. Mycroft took Greg’s hand and led him through a short stand of trees.

They came upon a set of graves, two fresh and one old but recently cared for. “Mycroft…” Greg said as it dawned on him what was happening. “Is it them? You put them together.” 

“I did, and Graham’s wife and child too. They shared a grave.” Mycroft bit his lip. “This is probably horribly morbid of me, but….” He turned and went to one knee. “Will you marry me, Greg Lestrade?”

Greg looked at him, nodding his head as Mycroft held out a ring. “Yeah...” he mumbled, choking back tears. 

Mycroft stood and slipped on the ring, kissing his damp cheeks.

Greg let his breath go as their fingers entwined, and pulled Mycroft to him, wrapping an arm around him. “I love you,” he muttered, burying his face in Mycroft’s neck.

“I love you, too. And Gregory...it’s dangerous, yes, but….I want the world to know it.”

“Oh my god,” Greg breathed, holding him tight. “Jesus, Mycroft. I don’t...I can’t. You surprised me.” 

Mycroft kissed him deeply, holding him just as tight. It felt right, that he had proposed in front of the graves of two men that he and Gregory had been able to bring together after so long apart. They were lucky to have this opportunity, to be shamelessly, unapologetically in love no matter what others said. Mycroft knew that before long Greg would notice the inscription he’d had carved into the silver. _I will always find you, in this life or the next._ And he knew that their love would match the words. Eternal.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with gorgeous [art](http://merindab.tumblr.com/post/144631078164/anotherwellkeptsecret-greyscale-lineart) courtesy of AnotherWellKept Secret
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you beltainefaire and Simply_Isnt_On for the beta and thank you for reading! You can find us on AO3 at [Janto321 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/)and [HumsHappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/humshappily) or on tumblr at [merindab ](http://merindab.tumblr.com)(janto321) and [HumsHappily](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com)!


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